


The flowers.

by Eachin



Category: noting
Genre: F/F, nothing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eachin/pseuds/Eachin
Summary: Hello!This is Elaine!You can also call me Eachin!The article is my first work on AO3,maybe it won't be so pleasant.I will try my best to write articles in the future:D*sign*My English is not good,I am sorry for it.If you find something wrong in my workq,you can tell me:)Thank you.I love you.
Relationships: ? - Relationship
Comments: 1





	The flowers.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My friends](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+friends).



The little girl  
God, she is really a child. Innocent and a bit of self-righteous playfulness dyed in her smile, you find her face is short, cheeks with little red halo, very round and soft, the whole looks like a kitten, jumping and laughing. She was the highest on your shoulders at that time, she was just a pure child. You are helpless to her, and at the same time you are not at ease with this silly guy. She seemed to have infinite curiosity all the time, smiling with a crooked mouth. You reluctantly follow the yellow Bragg, but willingly feel the golden light spots jumping and reflecting on those twine braids. She's always telling you everything she knows, staring at you like a cat, as if to pour out the whole brain for you. You admit, it's really boring, but you are afraid of her eyes at that moment. she does not know. What's the matter, she is just a twelve-year-old girl.  
Her eyes were gray-blue, large, clear like Lake Belga in remote Siberia. You suddenly realized that you were all in those eyes.  
The Sunlight.  
She is still familiar with Twisted Braid and Bragg, and is still a familiar face four years ago, and she is back. You notice that she is a little taller, but she can only hold her head against your chin; a pair of small round-frame glasses quietly appear on her freckled cheeks, always bullying her and sliding down like that Then she looked particularly funny. No, she's not exactly a child anymore. The little girl has grown up. You see the seriousness with which she made the plan. Yes, this little girl has started to understand the world. You find something new in her eyes, familiar and elusive, from the girl's unique soul. She is staring at you, and you are losing in the gray-blue eyes. You can feel that heart is approaching you and gradually sticking to your heart. Incredible experience. You have never felt this way before. At this moment the two hearts in the sun are no longer there. You swear for a moment that you would rather drown in the depths of the blue eyes. The air was full of girlish breath, and the wind from the Eastern European plains blew gently, letting those two hearts beat beautifully under the sun.  
This scarf belongs to you now. she says.  
The war.  
Sometimes, a few words can determine the lives and deaths of millions of people. She walks towards you, her face covered with strange emotions, and below is a costume that is not part of life-she is going to fight. She explained helplessly and frustratedly, lowering her head to make a mistake and ask for forgiveness. You noticed her voice was a little hoarse. After entering the army, she grew taller, but her face was still childish. The scarf was placed on her shoulders, she was holding your hand tightly, and you could feel the slight trembling of her body, as if trying to stop something. You find a drop of tears dripping on the bridge of her nose and slipping onto her pale face. Then she looked up, and her eyes suddenly changed, because of the tenderness you left on her forehead. Her face flushed, tears couldn't stop flowing, and she almost squatted down and muttered something. She spit out a few words of farewell, and then fled away.  
You see the huge military uniform shaking on her.  
You see that flying scarf.  
You feel bad.  
The holidays.  
It was an accident. When you dialed the crowd and saw her, she was sitting there with a few bloodstains on her old clothes, staring blankly at her hand-she had lost the middle finger of both hands! You are a bit overwhelmed and even want to run away. But she just found you, and a little anger flashed on her dull face. You followed her greetings, and you didn't know why you were in pain. She was much paler than before, and her rounded cheeks had corners. You may find something on her face that she has never had before. This may be familiar to you. It is the marks left by the war on the children and the scars caused by the edges of life. She's still her now, not all her. She was always expressionless, her eyes so dull that she couldn't tell what she was paying attention to, it seemed to matter nothing. Sometimes she stopped talking, and sometimes she looked away. You notice that she has lost a lot of weight, and sometimes she sits idly, staring blankly at her hands with only eight fingers and her scarred body. The little girl of the past is gone, her words are getting less and less, and she can hardly laugh any more, just silently tinkering with her burn thoughts. Very short, you have to leave. She stood still, her mouth crooked, and she shivered and said goodbye, so what do you think you should do. She looks so small in your arms, her thin body is close to you. She shivered, her features twisted violently.  
Then she fell to her knees and began to cry.  
The Death.  
Maybe everything is over. At this point you are there, the pain is spreading from your body, the time is still elapsed in minutes, and you know that you have very little left. All meanings are flowing, changing, disappearing or being generated, and the world rotates in the eyes and gradually fades. Suddenly a shadow jumps into your vision, familiar and unfamiliar, like struggling from the smoke of war. You realize it's her and she's alive. Dirty blond weeds dangled from her ears and pressed against her face—a lacerated wound on her face. You can't see her expression, just feel that she is holding your hand tightly and can't stop shaking. The pain is still going on, your vision is gradually blurred, and in your head is the roar of the aircraft and the sound of gunfire. You feel her thin hand moving on you, her words walking in the ear, and her image begins to blur. The unchangeable fact that the air, water and food that once gave you life is about to lose its meaning. She keeps the tenderness of women on your lips, that is her last tenderness to you.  
Consciousness begins to change and you feel a warm substance on your face. She sat there and said gently:  
"I love you."


End file.
